A gentle breeze blew across John's face as he cast his fishing line
into the lake. It was a warm day. A cold beer and an occasional breeze
on the other hand made it perfect. It had never been about the weather
for John anyways. It was gentle serenity that flowed through him while
alone on the lake.
John had spent the last sixteen years working for the police
department in Vegas. It was the kind of place filled with everything
but serenity. He was a beat cop. A job he both loved and hated at the
same time. One moment he could be saving a little girl from drowning
in her backyard pool. The next moment he was answering a call just a
mile down the road and finding a drunken father who had just beat his
daughter to death. It was maddening.
John kicked back in his lawn chair, reached into his cooler,
and pulled out a cold beer. Today was not a day for such stressful
thoughts. He cracked open his beer, drinking about half of it in the
first swallow, then set it on top of the cooler. He grabbed his pole,
cast the line out and did what his ancestors did. He fished.
Over the next few hours John had received several bites, most
of them coming from mosquito's. The only thing he seemed to be
catching today was a beer buzz. John shrugged to himself. “Better than
nothing,” He thought.
He leaned his pole against a rock beside him, attached a bell
to the line, stretched his arms out wide and let out a big yawn. He
kicked his feet up on his cooler and tilted his ball cap down over his
eyes. If he couldn't catch a fish maybe he could at least catch a nap.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes after John had
fallen asleep when the tiny bell started to ring. John's eye's flew
open. The pole dipped slightly and the bell gave another jingle. He
reached for the pole carefully plucking the bell off the line, so as
not to frighten away his potential dinner. There was another small tug
followed by a sharp jerk. He yanked the line back quick and began to
reel it in. It must have been a real whopper. The pole curved towards
the water, threatening to snap.
“C'mon you son of a bitch,” John said. A bead of sweat
trickled down his forehead. He pulled up on the pole. He would be
damned if he was going to let this one get away. Peace and quite might
be his goal, but lets be serious you can get that in a dark closet at
home. It was still about the fish.
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